Of Scarlet and Gold
by libowie
Summary: George thinks that they were all hurt when their family was torn apart, but while everyone else's wounds slowly heal into shiny scars he spends all his time bleeding.
1. Of Red Hair And Glasses

Hermione wakes up some nights terrified.

But only the calm, quiet summer nights. Only when she is safe at home, immersed in peace.

She lies in her London bed in her London home and blinks away images of magic, adventure, and two foolish boys.

The haziness fades as she realizes she was only dreaming, and genuine fear takes its place with the thought that always follows on these trouble free nights; _it was all a dream_.

And that's the difficulty of being a Witch in the Muggle world- believing in something no one else knows exists.

_How much of it was a dream?_

Her fingers grope in the darkness for a scarf of scarlet and gold, and she doesn't breathe until it's gathered on her pillow, the smell of books and midnight under her nose.

Hermione holds the scarf and thinks of winter; of pages of spells and rules disregarded and the cold bite of the wind; the ever present danger.

The thought of danger is a lullaby to her as she lies in her safe home.

With her eyes open she can only stare up at a ceiling that doesn't do much of anything except hide the stars, and so she closes her eyes to the world that awaits her (as frightening as it can be.) And she is grateful, because nights like these remind her that the possibility of magic not existing is a thousand times scarier than anything it can ever do to her.

So she keeps her eyes closed and her heart fills up at the images that surface; dreams, for now, of red hair, of glasses, of scarlet and gold.

**_Note:_**_ I do not own anything having to do with Harry Potter, nor am I making a profit from this._

_Hello! This is my first time writing for this particular fandom, and I'm planning on updating this as often as possible with short drabbles as a way to get a feel for this. Most will probably end up being Hermione centered._

_Feedback would be wonderful! :)_


	2. A ThreeOfThemTogether Thing

Ron takes Hermione's hand the night Mad-Eye dies.

The two are staring out a window at Harry when she says "Oh! I can see it now. The thestral, Ron," with a broken voice, and the moment is hideous and her hand is his is so very necessary.

* * *

Ginny knows that when Hermione gets up in the middle of the night and leaves their room that she slips into the boys' room, and she knows it isn't a scared thing or a Ron thing, but a three-of-them-together thing, so she pretends to sleep through it.

* * *

Every year they go camping, just the three of them, with nothing but a small beaded bag. They skip on food and eat hope and memories instead, staying up all night talking and watching the forest around them.

They retrace the steps only they know about to remember, just as much as to forget.

* * *

It has become tradition that on the first night of every gathering at the Burrow children will climb into laps and Hermione will crack open a worn edition of _Beadle The Bard. _Her reading voice is steady and soft as always until James requests "The Tale of Three Brothers", where she falters just slightly every time.

* * *

As Harry sleeps the realization settles over Hermione that they nearly died a few minutes ago; she crumples to the ground and sobs and laughs, thinking _thank goodness Ron left us, thank goodness he got so angry, thank goodness he's somewhere _safe.

* * *

"What would we do without you?" Ron asks Hermione one day after she helped the two boys with their homework.

"Die," she replies lightly, but no one laughs at the joke.


	3. All Of Seven Years

"I wonder what would have happened," Hermione muses, stirring her tea as the children play in the garden at the Burrow, "if Ron hadn't been able to find us again?"

"Things would be the same," Harry responds resolutely, and Hermione nods her head and they both avert their eyes so they don't leak out the traces of _'it was close there, for a while'_ and_ 'you're the only person who has never really left me'._

_

* * *

_

Ron surprises Harry and Hermione one day by telling them they could've completed the mission without him. He is showered with a chorus of "No, we were miserable, it was terrible, we were hopeless," but Ron's face shines with the fear that he and Hermione had always tried to suppress; insignificance.

"I'm not saying it would've been fun. But still, you would've done it."

The room goes quiet and the truth rings loud.

* * *

Hermione slams her book shut too loudly in the library and drops her chin into her hand. "Arg, this is the hardest thing I've ever done!"

Luna glances at the name of the book, about to offer help, but Ginny shakes her head. "Not the work, Luna. Coming back to school."

"Ah," Luna nods, before reminding Hermione airily, "You did just fight a war, you know,"

"Yea," Ginny says firmly, "but she did that with them by her side."

* * *

_You know_, the girl whispers to the boy, wand falling at her side as she stares at the severed body in front of her, _witches were always evil in my storybooks._

_

* * *

_

The field next to the Burrow is strewn with twinkling lights and full of friends who traveled far and wide for Harry and Ginny's wedding. The Groom heaves a happy sigh and plops down in a chair next to Hermione.

"So," Harry says, tilting his head at her with a wide smile and a hint of eleven year old boy in his voice, "I've never had a sister before."

"Well of course you have," she replies, leaning forward to fix his tie, all of seven years in her eyes.

* * *

Sometimes Hermione wonders if it's really love, or just the desire to spend the rest of their lives with the one other person who completely understands everything that comes along with being Harry Potter's best friend.

* * *

Harry had always been terrible with girls, and he thinks that one of the reasons he's fallen so hard for Ginny is that she's the only one who's ever been able to look him in the eyes and say exactly what she means.

* * *

"Hugo?" she asks, wrinkling her nose. "I don't know, Ron. _Hugo?"_

He nods seriously. "For you. I wanted it to mean something about you. I er- I looked it up..."

"Looked it up? In a book?" she asks, her eyebrow raised and a teasing sideways smile on her lips. Her heart seizes up when he doesn't laugh, just looks at her in that way (like he's trying to memorize her face), gulps, and nods.

"Yea. It means intelligent."

And the shy way he offers up that last bit, like it's a gift he spent a long time wrapping, does it for her. In that moment she decides she'll name anything Hugo, change her own name to Hugo, tattoo it across her back, just to show him how much she loves the things he gives her.

* * *

The first time Hermione truly feels like a Weasley is when she looks down at Fred's dead body and feels absolutely hollow.


	4. Ancient, Almost

With one more nervous glance at Harry, Ron turns to Hermione, attempts to say something sentimental (he settles on 'er') and drops to one knee in front of her. Hermione shrieks when he pulls out a ring and shoots Harry a panicked _'how long have you known about this?"_ look. Ron only has time to say her name before her hand fly up to her face and she exclaims "I want a million red-haired children!" like she's been holding it in since the day she met him.

* * *

Every year for Christmas Hermione gives Harry a wreath of flowers; a sad looking thing. Neither smiles during the exchange, but often her head winds up on his shoulder and sometimes Harry gets something in his eye that he immediately has to go to the bathroom to clean out.

* * *

Hermione sits stiffly on a rock outside the tent, keeping watch. Harry quietly sits beside her, sympathetic. He knows that the long hours on watch make the mind wander, and it's not hard for him to imagine where Hermione's mind has been wandering these days.

"I was never looking for an adventure, you know." Hermione says, as much to herself as to Harry.

"I know." he replies unnecessarily. And then, to the silence that follows, "What were you looking for?"

His mind leaves the wilderness and stops at Hogwarts, midnight, first year, when Hermione followed he and Ron through the corridors, chiding them for being out so late. What was she looking for?

Order.

Obediance.

House points.

"Friends."

* * *

The day Ron comes back all Hermione wants to do is walk up to him and touch his face; cry in his arms and know that he is solid. When the tears start to come, however, her feet take her to Harry, and his shoulder is the one she buries her face in, aware that it might be the last place on earth she knows she'll never get hurt.

* * *

Hermione sends the owl back through the window and takes a deep breath to compose herself before telling the children they got a letter from Daddy; twenty years later and his name still gives her butterflies.

* * *

The three children lay on their backs outside of the tent. The wide sky, full of stars, is visible through gaps in the tree branches, and the heavy locket has been hanging from Ron's neck for several hours now.

"Everything we've done," Harry says, (his voice sounding too loud for the night) "it makes me feel so old. Ancient, almost."

Hermione looks at the boys on either side of her, one broken already, and one so close to breaking. Gently, she reaches for each of their hands and wraps them tightly with her own.

"Really?" Hermione is startled by how little the word sounds, like her voice is being sucked up by the air and the sky and the locket and her own breath. "Because it's always made me feel like a child."

Her words fly straight up into the night as Ron pulls his hand away and places it on his bad shoulder.

* * *

Hermione was eerily calm when Bellatrix told them to leave her for questioning. Perhaps it was because everything was just completely wrong already, and there was no way out, no clever trick she had to think up or fight she had to engage in.

Perhaps it was because she'd always been good at answering questions.

And all of a sudden, right as she accepted her fate, there was Ron screaming at them to leave her alone- to take him instead, and those words bumped around in Hermione's head, causing a commotion where there had been a resigned sense of peace.

Just like that- _take me instead_- feeling rushed back into Hermione's chest and she felt whole again for the first time since Ron left.

And _how ironic_, she thought as she watched Ron and Harry being ripped away from her (love that she always thought she was imagining twisting up Ron's face), that her broken heart was finally fixed just in time for her to die;_ how sad._

_

* * *

_

Ron was silent as the wireless crackled beside him, drowning out the sound of the ocean. He strained his ears through the static, listening hard for the two names that beat inside his head since he'd arrived at Shell Cottage. He wondered if they knew how sorry he was, that he knew now that he was wrong- leaving didn't make a difference; no matter which part of his family he was with he was destined to spend his time worrying about those he couldn't see.

* * *

Later on in her life Hermione will wonder why she, a seemingly regular little girl, became a witch. Harry calls it fate and Ron calls it luck (and when he's feeling sad or romantic, love) but she remembers how as a child she tossed away the fairy-tales and decided that she didn't _believe_ in magic, she believed in facts. Hermione thinks that somehow, someone out there saw all that and wanted to prove her _wrong_.


	5. Had He Not

There is a night Harry and Hermione never talk about. The night before she was set to leave to find her parents in Australia Hermione awoke in Ginny's room at the Burrow to a wide-eyed Harry, who grasped at her hand and whispered urgently "You don't have to go, it's okay, it's really not so bad."

She sat up quickly and grabbed his shoulder with her free hand. He clutched her other hand in panic, squeezing so hard it hurt. "You don't need them, Hermione. It's not so bad."

"What? What is it, Harry?" Hermione whispered back. Though the war was over, her heart was still wild with fear.

"Parents." he choked out.

"Oh, _Harry_-" she breathed, and the word seemed to deflate her.

His head hung low and he wept.

And for one night with her he was selfish and childish, and she held him like his mother should have been able to.

* * *

There are times when Hermione feels wrong somehow for marrying Ron, just because it felt too much like choosing one best friend over the other.

* * *

One morning when Hermione walked out of the tent all of her problems stood facing her, solved.

There was Ron, _Ron_, holding the sword of Gryffindor, looking humble and... and sorry and beautiful, and Harry, holding the destroyed locket, looking happy and explaining how Ron saved his life and destroyed the horcrux and hecameback.

And Hermione felt herself turn back into a eleven year old girl clutching a letter, screaming and screaming to everyone _magic is possible, the proof is right here._

_

* * *

_

They're laying in the grass on the edge of a lake with the horcrux and each other, and they're laughing and covered in painful blisters. Ron rolls over onto his stomach, ignoring the pain, and mumbles to Harry, "Wonder if tomorrow some first year will tell his best mate that some one broke into Gringotts?" and they laugh even louder.

* * *

Hermione calls Harry the first time it happens (using a Muggle phone, so he knows it must be bad). She is sobbing as she explains that she and Ron had gotten into an argument (_"I don't know, Harry, something petty- does it_ matter_?"_) and Ron had walked out in frustration.

So he tries to reassure her (_"Be reasonable, Hermione, you know he'll come back, he's only cooling off.")_ but he knows that it isn't about the fight, it's about how much it remind her of _last time_ Ron left. And then she pulls the I-just-really-need-you-right-now, and he knows that she have been there every time he has ever needed her, so there's really no question about it.

Harry Apparates to Ron and Hermione's flat and makes her some tea, throwing a blanket over her -and for an hour listens to how much she loves Ron, how he's so perfect (his _eyes, _his _hair_), how sorry she is- that by the time Ron actually walks through the door Harry doesn't know whether to vomit or drop to his feet and kiss them.

But of course Hermione stands angrily and barks at him (_"Ronald. Weasley. You said you'd never-") _until Ron strides across the room, pulls her into his arms, and kisses her (_" 'M sorry."_)

((And that was all she really wanted, after all))

* * *

Ron can remember very clearly the moment his best mate died.

Rage was bursting out of him, and he was screaming, and his little sister was screaming, and Hermione's hand was like a claw in his arm. But she had stopped screaming and was staring at Harry through eyes that widened and narrowed.

She was whispering, clutching his arm and throwing desperate words at him- strings of "no no no, he's not, Ron, he's _not_"- but he could barely hear over the thrum of his pulse in his ears.

And he was screaming, screaming at Voldemort and screaming for Harry, wild with it all.

Finally Hermione pulled his face toward hers; for one overwhelming moment he thought she was going to kiss him, before he recognized the look in her eyes. Knowledge. Logic. Fear, hope.

She stared pointedly at Ron's chest and then darted her eyes back to Harry.

He followed her gaze, and, had he not known Harry for seven years, had he not learned to communicate silently with Hermione, had he not spent the past year growing accustomed to every mannerism the two of them had, had they both not known the way in which Harry thought, ate, fought, cried, and slept, then Ron would not have noticed his best mate's chest moving slightly up and down.

* * *

Hermione is curled in an armchair in the common room, her foot lightly kicking the cover of a Spell Book. Every one has gone to bed except for Ron, who sits heavily near the end of the couch as the pair wait for Harry to return, again.

"So," Hermione asks lazily, the late hour making her words bolder, "when did we go from friends who studied together to being willing to die for each other?"

Ron is not startled by the personal admission in the question, because these late nights waiting up for Harry had always included the unspoken-of Question Game. It was nearly routine.

He mulls it over for a bit, feeling uncommonly serious when he finally answers "I'd say the moment we chose to talk to Harry Potter instead of some _normal_ kid."

Hermione gives an exasperated laugh as Ron rolls his eyes, and they both turn smiles down at the ground, unaware that they (The Brightest Witch of Her Age, The Youngest Weasley Son) were the special ones themselves.


	6. The Her She Was Now

"I don't know why I'm Hermione."

Harry looked up, puzzled. "You're Hermione because you're Hermione and your parents named you that."

"I never asked why."

Harry turned his head back down at the table. Ron stirred in his bed.

"I never asked them how they met..."

Ron sat up, cursing quietly as he bumped his injured shoulder on the bedpost.

"I don't know where my father was when my mother called to tell him she was pregnant. I don't know if they cried when they found out they were having a girl."

Harry slid the locket's chain through his fingers.

"I should've asked."

Ron flicked on the wireless.

"I don't know what they did all those summers I spent away from home."

Ron let out a slight groan and leaned closer to the wireless.

Hermione pulled a blanket tighter around her shoulders. "My mother, she never liked the cold."

Harry's stomach growled.

"I wonder... I wonder if I get that from her. I should've asked..."

Harry passed a book to her, pointing at a passage. "Do you think this would work against a horcrux?"

Hermione fingered the book for a moment. "My father always said I read too much-"

"Enough!" Harry shouted, slamming his fist on the table. Ron's elbow knocked the wireless to the ground as he turned.

Hermione stood, pulled the locket off Harry's neck and put it around her own. She sat on the edge of her bed with the book and attempted to look at it before slamming it shut and dropping her head into her hands.

Ron's stomach growled.

* * *

She married a man who called her Ginevra.

She married a man with light hair and a clean face.

He was a safe choice. Always kind to her. Always home for dinner.

She married the kind of man Harry would've wanted for her, had he still been around to want things.

She smiled at all the right times. She still looked pretty when the light hit her face just right.

But every morning she would find herself looking at the bedside table for longer and longer to avoid turning her gaze to the man in bed next to her, unable to pull her eyes away from the spot where a pair of glasses should have been.

* * *

The greatest lie she ever told was when she looked into the eyes of the thing that scared her most and said "I am not afraid of you."

* * *

Petunia Evans stopped believing in magic after she waited up all night for a letter that never came.

* * *

Once upon a time Hermione Granger believed in God.

Once, she left on the biggest adventure of her life (and now don't get her wrong, just because it is an adventure does not mean it is a good thing).

Once, she trusted God.

Once, the boy she loved left.

Once, she stayed up all night praying to Someone she wasn't sure could hear her.

Once, she drew a cross in the snow and fell onto her knees in front of it, and then Hermione cried and cried like she never had before, because nothing changed at all.

Once, she lost faith in (almost) everything (but her best friend).

And once upon a morning she gained it all back, and she fell onto her knees in the snow and Hermione cried and cried because now everything had changed, and there was no setting it back (setting it right).

* * *

The big secret of it is, when Hermione was in _her _skin, using _her_ wand, walking through Diagon Alley and she saw all those people cower in fear at _her_ (the her she was now, but not really, just until the Polyjuice Potion wore off) she got a feeling that no one would dare to make fun of her even if she had bushy hair and rather large front teeth and a comfort in books. And she liked it.

* * *

_**Note:** I realize that Petunia is supposed to be older than Lily, and would therefore have turned eleven before she even knew about magic, but I've gotten in my head that she feels like there was some mistake and she spends every birthday waiting for her letter against her better judgement._

_Also, I read a quote from JKR somewhere that Hermione was supposed to have a Muggle sister that just never got written into the books, and the fact that a regular family could house this incredible girl fascinates me, so you might expect something about that in the future._

_Thank you SO MUCH for everyone who has taken the time to review, it really makes me so happy. Also, I'd love to know what your favorite has been so far, or even if there was one you didn't particularly understand or like._


	7. Their Little Frame

On particularly tough nights at the Dursley's Harry would get into bed and lace his fingers, his palms pressed against each other like a silent prayer. He figured he just needed the contact.

After all, he had two hands. Why couldn't they just hold each other?

* * *

All across England Hermione carried a tiny bottle of perfume. She never put it on for fear that the smell would lose its meaning, and so in the little glass bottle it sat. There were times that she needed to see something beautiful, so she'd hold the bottle up to the sunlight and watch the color turn. There were times when she needed to smell her mother, so she'd pass the bottle under her nose and breathe in home. And that became the color (green in the winter and pinkish in the sunlight) and the smell (lilacs in a vase, warm tea steam and a _bath_) of hope.

All across England Ron wore his maroon sweater. It itched and stretched against his arms, but it was warm and the color was loud, just like the Burrow. It helped him all those times that things in the tent got too quiet. Weeks passed and the sweater grew looser and frayed at the ends. He obsessively collected the wayward threads and rolled them between his thumb and forefinger. He promised himself that he'd give them to his mum so she could fix it when he saw her again, because he _would _see her again.

All across England Harry carried a picture Hermione had packed him of his parents. He folded it up and tucked it in his shirt until it got deep creases and was in danger of tearing. Until one day when an _entire bloody war_ was too much, so he dug a hole in the snow and he buried them (the way they belonged) and left them there, turning in their little frame. After that Harry just carried his two best friends, who tried so hard to never remind him of why he was fighting, only what he was fighting _for_.

* * *

One day Neville stood by the lake, looked out onto the still, black water and thought 'Who would miss me?'

He should've been the Chosen One, he always knew. And not because of some prophecy, either.

Neville was a lot of things; to his Gran he was a burden, to the professors he was a failure, and to his parents he was just a visitor. Neville was a lot of things, but he was not a hero.

But it should've been him. It would've been better, easier for everyone.

_Because if he jumped, no one would miss him._

_

* * *

_I have seen your heart.

In your heart, Hermione Jean Granger, there is fear.

In your heart, Harry James Potter, there is anger.

And in your heart, Ronald Billius Weasley, there is jealousy. You are weak.

It is easy, so easy, for me to break you apart.

You could've beaten me, had you tried. But I won't tell.

Lockets are meant for keeping secrets.

* * *

Hermione wakes up in the cold and lays in her blankets for a moment, turning every which way to get some warmth before she resigns and slips out of her bed. She puts on three sweaters to ward off the chill, and it is only when she glances at Ron does she worry that three layers may make her look a bit too bulky around the waist. She keeps the sweaters on anyway.

Ron sleeps for a while longer while she and Harry putter around the table. She nags Harry, trying to get him to eat something, but he only sips at his tea (he tells himself it's because he isn't hungry, but it really might be because of spite- all she ever notices is Ron, why is he even there at all?) and every few seconds her eyes dance back to where Ron is sleeping on his side, gingerly avoiding his sling. Nausea sweeps over her and she has to sit down.

Ron is broken.

Her fault.

And her scholarly mind keeps reminding her that it is just oh so symbolic, which makes her want to stick her head between her knees so she doesn't vomit (but she doesn't out of pure pride- she will not vomit up the food that she was getting on to Harry about eating).

But then Harry claps a hand to his scar and shuts his eyes in pain, and the thought (fear) that Voldemort is inside her best friend's head staring at her and Ron feels so utterly disgusting that she keels over and lets it go in the kitchen, right next to her shoes.

At the sound Harry opens his eyes and blinks away the beginnings of a headache. Hermione stares at her insides spilled across the floor and her broken friend and her hurting friend and her scholarly mind is screaming, so she begins to cry.

Harry is by her side, wrapping his arms around her shoulders and leading her away from the mess before she can think of a spell to clean it up.

"It's alright now," he soothes, and Hermione's face twists up. How could anything be alright?

"D-don't you know what's w-wrong?" she cries, and Harry stares at her blankly, his hands still at her shoulders.

"Of course," he says unsurely, "girls always cry after that sort of thing."

A laugh builds in Hermione and comes out as a strangled sob; it is a strangely hopeful noise.

Ron listens with his eyes closed.

* * *

"Are you ok?"

Ron nods slowly, fingertips barely brushing against his shoulder. Hermione notices the way the light filters through the trees makes his hair shine.

"Are you alright?"

He looks around the tent and thinks of his family. He kicks his feet up on the kitchen table, the way he remembers Fred and George doing, and smiles for her because she needs it.

"Is everything alright?"

"Mm-" Ron mumbles back, forcing down a mouthful of mushrooms. He drops his eyes from hers.

"How are you feeling?"

Ron thrusts the horcrux into her hands and turns on his heel.

"You ok?"

It's late, and Ron can barely make out the shape of Hermione sitting up in her bed. Everything is dark except for her eyes, white and huge and scared. His voice is gone, so he simply pats the spot next to him and she joins him on the floor and takes his hand.

"Alright?"

Her eyes stay on the book as she asks. It is a stiff question, stemming from a sense of habit. The horcrux hangs heavy from her neck. He sighs and walks up behind her, dropping his chin onto her shoulder. He looks at the page just as her eyes close.

"Are you sure you're alright?"

Hermione's arms are around her middle, fighting to keep the cold out, and she stares at Ron, waiting for some sort of reply. Finally he glances back at her (a look of _I'm not sure of anything anymore)_ and cranes his neck even closer to the sound of the wireless.

"'Mione? Are you ok?"

Hermione looks up at Ron, wide-eyed. She appears for a moment to be on the verge of answering 'fine', but her eyes grow shiny and her mouth flickers down and her chin trembles.

"No."

And Ron is surprised not at the answer, but at the fact that she had been the one to actually say it.

Her forehead falls against his chest and she is crying, fighting against his arms simply because she needs to fight something she knows will let her win.

"Ron, I'm _not!_"

And Ronald Weasley learns that people only ask the questions they are afraid to answer.

_**Note:** I'm on a bit of a Deathly Hallows kick._

_Oh, the joy of describing something Ron does as 'gingerly'._


	8. One To Forget Things

Harry's stomach ached as he unlocked the door. "Hello" he called softly as he walked inside the bright house.

A woman with wispy white hair and intelligent eyes emerged from the kitchen. She looked at him curiously.

"Hermione."

Her smile was kind. "Who's that?"

o.o.o.o.

"The doctors say it's a terrible disease." Ron said miserably, staring out the window. Harry sat motionless across the table.

"And it'll only get worse over time?"

Ron nodded. "They told me to put her in a home."

A silence stretched between the two friends. Harry took a deep breath. "And?"

"Never."

He breathed out. "Good."

o.o.o.o.

Ginny shook her head sadly. "Her own name? Already?"

"It always was a bit long." Harry admitted, trying to coax a smile out of his wife.

"Still," Ginny said, "I'd never figure her for one to forget things."

"She can't help it!" Harry snapped.

Ginny put a hand on her cheek. "Still."

o.o.o.o.

"So, I'll need some help. Someone to watch her, just when I go out for medicine and things."

"Of course." Harry nodded. "I'd like to spend some extra time with her anyway."

Ron grunted and turned away. His shoulders began to shake. Harry removed his glasses and rubbed his face, and after a moment crossed the room and embraced his best friend.

o.o.o.o

"Thanks again," Ron said hurriedly, giving Harry a quick pat on the shoulder. "I hate to leave her alone anymore."

"Take your time." Harry replied, although Ron was halfway through the door.

He walked into the sitting room and perched on the end of a chair. Hermione sat quietly stirring a cup of tea gone cold. She was humming.

"Do you remember me?"

Her eyes searched his face and lingered on his scar. "You're Harry Potter." she said blankly.

Harry tried to smile at her, but couldn't quite manage it. "Just Harry. Remember? I'm your best friend."

"Mm." she replied, and went back to stirring her tea.

o.o.o.o

"It's bad today." Ron said gruffly.

"Hello," Harry said kindly. Hermione sat in her nightgown by the window. "Do you remember me?"

"I planted those roses." she said, pointing at the garden. "I like roses."

"Do you know why?" Harry asked. She shook her head.

Harry walked a few steps to the mantle and picked up a frame with Hermione's daughter in it, dancing across the kitchen. He handed it to her, and she stared at it for a long time, glancing up to look through the doorway to the kitchen.

"Alright," he said, breaking her concentration. "Shall we go for a walk, then?" Harry tried to take the picture from her, but Hermione held on tightly.

Finally Harry gave up, and they walked through the garden with the picture clutched tightly in her hand.

o.o.o.o

"She has hair like yours." Hermione stated, pointing at Ginny from across the dinner table. Ron chuckled and nodded.

Ginny snorted into her wineglass. "I hope mine's a bit thicker."

Ron laughed again and tried to hide his receding hairline with his hand. Hermione reached for his hand and pulled it from his forehead. "I think his is lovely."

The way Ron stared at her made Harry and look away.

o.o.o.o

"Hermione!" Ron called as he opened the door. "Harry's come to visit!"

"Harry!" she called, and hurried out of the bedroom. She was fully dressed in daytime clothes, a book in her hand. "How's Ginny?"

Ron beamed. "She's doing great today." he added under his breath on his way out.

"She's... I-" Harry stuttered, but Hermione had disappeared into the kitchen.

"Two sugars?" she called, and Harry's eyes misted over.

"Yes, always."

o.o.o.o

Harry walked up to the clerk with a handful of books. The clerk picked up a particularly heavy volume and looked at Harry with pity written on his face. "For Miss Granger, I suppose?"

"Weasley," Harry reminded, though it had never caught on. "But yes."

"I heard what happened to her. Such a shame. She always had a fine mind."

"The best." Harry said a bit too angrily, snatched up the books and left.

o.o.o.o

Harry unlocked the door and set the books down on the table. Hermione stood in the middle of the room and stared at him. "Hello." she said. "Who are you?"

"My name is Harry." he replied with a tight throat.

"Funny name." she said, and walked towards him. "What have you got with you?"

"Some books for you."

A smile spread across her face. "How kind." She reached for a heavy one and cracked it open, skimming through the pages. She set it down and continued the pattern with the next few books. Hermione looked up at Harry with the expression of one who is being tricked. "Why, these are all spell books."

"Yes." Harry said with much difficulty.

"You must like fantasy, then. I've never much cared for it."

Harry sat heavily in a chair and dropped his head into his hands.

"Are you alright?"

He didn't respond.

Ron walked into the room, looking quite disoriented as if he had just woken up. Hermione stared at him. "Hello. Who are you?"

o.o.o.o

"And she doesn't remember at all?"

Ron rubbed his eyes. "Depends on the day."

"And what about magic?"

"I try not to bring it up. Don't want to frighten her if it's a bad day."

Harry sighed angrily. He paced a few times and then kicked the wall so hard a bit of paint chipped off. Harry stared at the damage. "Sorry, mate."

Ron glanced around and then pulled out his wand to repair it. "I know."

o.o.o.o

Harry yanked his head up. He had fallen asleep on the couch.

"Hermione?" he called, but he didn't expect an answer. Harry poked his head into a few rooms and didn't find her anywhere. Finally he opened the door to the attic and, with protest from his bones, climbed the stairs. She was sitting in a musty chair next to a trunk, humming.

"What song is that?"

"I don't know."

The floorboards creaked under his feet as he walked to where she was sitting just under a thin ray of sunlight. The trunk was open and she was looking at something in her hands.

Harry's heart leapt to his throat as he realized what it was. "Where did you get those!" he asked, snatching the moving photograph out of her hands. It was one of the three of them at Hogwarts their first year.

"It's magic."

Harry's breath hitched as he looked at her. Her face was calm. "How do you know that?"

"Well it isn't science." she breathed, and he cracked a smile. "I remember, a little... Were we friends?"

"Best friends." he replied, shutting the lid to the trunk so he could sit with her. "We still are."

"My friend," she said, studying him, "What's your name?

"Harry."

"And my name?"

"Hermione."

"Hermione." She repeated. "It's a bit silly. But lovely. Do I look like a Hermione?"

"Yes. Exactly like one."

She laughed. "Harry," she said at length. "Tell me everything."

Harry shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me."

"Try."

"You saved the world."

"Did I?" she laughed. "How's that?"

"It's a long story."

"I'd love to hear it."

"Well," Harry said, shifting on the trunk and handing her the photo back. "One upon a time a little girl was born to two dentists. They all seemed normal enough, but this little girl was too bright to be ordinary..."


	9. In A Cupboard

The first year they went in the winter, and it was hard, too hard. Ginny didn't quite understand what the place meant to the three of them, why Harry and Ron stood so long in silence by a small iced-over pond or why, when Hermione picked up a bag, Ron automatically flinched and then tried to play it off.

Ron didn't understand the guilty look Hermione gave Harry when he mentioned it would be a nice place to retire to and _grow old in_, if it weren't so bloody cold. He suspected something might've happened between them but never asked for a few reasons.

Now they only come back in the summer, when the sun melts the snow the leaves are all on the trees instead of crunching like memories under their feet.

* * *

Really, it's all Albus Dumbledore can do not to laugh at the way Harry and his friends look at him; as if _some old wizard_ is more important to the world than they are.

* * *

There is a day that Hermione recalls, though whether it was reality or a dream she was never entirely clear.

She was on holiday (only a small child) at some cabin in the woods. She had been walking with her parents for hours and hours, all day long. Daddy had the remains of their picnic in his backpack and a map turned sideways in his hands. Mum was running short on energy and patience. They appeared to be lost.

The Grangers came upon a great hill, and Daddy, thinking it would give a better view of where the cabin could be, suggested they climb it. At the top a cool breeze spoke of something Hermione couldn't quite place, and she found herself compelled to turn around.

There, in the distance, so far away it could barely be seen, was a magnificent castle. It was the kind she read about in story books, with the huge turrets and glistening windows and twisting corridors. Hermione knew at once it must've been home to a Princess with riches beyond imagination.

"Mum! Daddy!" she exclaimed, and excitedly pointed toward the sprawling stone structure. "Look!"

Mum stopped fanning herself with the bunched up map and peered in the direction Hermione was pointing. Daddy walked to her side and lifted a hand over his eyes, squinting against the sun. "Huh. Would you look at that, a castle must have been there a long time ago. Those are _some _ruins... must've been huge."

"What?" Hermione asked, perplexed. She focused upon the spot again and saw a complete castle standing against the rolling hills. "What are rue-eins-"

"Dear," Mum interrupted, "Do you feel like we're forgetting something? An appointment, maybe?"

"Yes, with our banker." Daddy replied. "Come now, Hermione. Time to go."

Hermione started to whine, but her parents were already picking their way down the side of the hill. She turned once more to stare at the castle, deciding that one day she would come back to this place- and perhaps even explore it! But only if she were looking for an adventure, and feeling particularly brave.

* * *

Hermione lays on Ron's old bunk, staring at the ceiling. "If you hadn't found out you're a wizard, what would you be doing right now?"

Harry folds up the Marauder's Map and answers, without looking up, "Sitting in a cupboard. No where to go. No room to breathe." He pulls the locket from his neck and tosses it to Hermione.

She wraps the chain around her wrist and turns her face into Ron's pillow. Restless, she kicks her legs a few times and flips back on to her other side. Harry looks up at the noise and sighs.

"Not much different, is it?"

Harry swallows a lump in his throat and moves to flick the wireless on. Hermione looks at him, eyes huge and watery. "Don't." she says, and he turns it back off.

Silence engulfs the tent as Harry ponders what Hermione said. An hour goes by and they do not move from their spots. Finally Harry snaps a book shut and says "It's different."

"Is it, though?"

"Yes. I'm not alone."

"Aren't you?"

Harry stands. "Give me the locket." he tries to order, but it comes out sounding like the voice of a little boy.

"It's not your turn, I've only had it for-"

"_Give me the locket._" Harry says, and this time it is the voice of a man.

"Yes sir, Chosen One." she spits, and throws the locket from the bed. Harry tries to catch it but misses.

The locket sits on the floor of the tent, and neither makes a move to retrieve it. Hermione fiddles with the blankets, and Harry thinks he can hear her crying very quietly.

"Hermione," he says, but he stays where he is.

"Is it worth it? If we die tomorrow, is it worth it?"

"What?"

"This. Being here. Knowing me and, and- everything. Dying."

"Being a wizard?"

"Yes. Or... or would you rather have been a Muggle forever? Lived in that little cupboard?"

Harry stands and crosses the room to where the locket had fallen. It's an easy question, of course, he's always known the answer-

but as he slips the locket over his head and it settles right over his heart he thinks he changes his mind.

* * *

In their third year he made a particularly witty joke and she put down her quill and really laughed until tears appeared in her eyes. "I love you," she said with a happy sigh once she had regained her breath, and he smiled back and didn't say anything, just turned to Harry to ask about a game of chess and carried on and never thought of it again.

* * *

Hermione shuffled into the train compartment, Ron following close behind. He slid the door shut behind him took a seat next to Harry, across from Hermione.

She dropped her head onto the back of the seat and let a deep breath out through her nose. Her eyes slid shut.

Harry watched the window, not wanting to make too much noise talking to Ron if Hermione was asleep. After a few minutes, however, he looked across the compartment and saw her staring at the two of them in a bemused sort of way.

"Wha?" Ron mumbled.

"Do you think we'll have a normal year?"

"Well, it is about time, isn't it?" Harry chuckled.

"You two'll jus haf ta get o'er it," Ron said through a mouthful of chocolate frog. Hermione shot him a look and he swallowed before finishing. "You aren't Muggles anymore. How normal can it get?"

Harry laughed and nodded, and Hermione tried her best to look exasperated but smiled the tiniest bit.


	10. For A Soldier

A red haired boy turns on his side and stares across his orange room, wide awake. His chess board shines in the moonlight, and he moves to sit in front of it. He studies the pieces and begins to make moves to try and trick himself. Night turns into morning and he sits in the moonlight playing, imagining each adversary as a different brother, determined to be the absolute best at_ something._

A little girl sits in a fort made by a blanket, two hands holding up a heavy flashlight and a book held in place between her feet. Each page she turns holds a world of pictures and things she never knew before. The thought overwhelms her- how she wants to know everything there is but she just doesn't have enough time- and so she sits up and reads until her parents find her crumpled forward on the open book in the morning.

A skinny boy sits up quietly on his mess of blankets, careful not to wake anyone. He gropes in the darkness for a soldier, and then for his steed. His small hand lands on another soldier dressed in different paint, and his scratchy blanket becomes the ocean, and his shelf becomes a castle. By shape alone he feels his way along the story (his favorite one to play) and the blackness leaves gaping spaces for his imagination to fill in. There in the darkness he plays pretend, where sometimes he wins and sometimes he drowns but he is always the hero.

* * *

"Where should we go next?"

Her voice is strained and there is a smile on her mouth but not in her eyes; Harry thinks it looks pathetic.

"We aren't on holiday." Ron mutters grumpily, and Hermione looks so deflated that Harry blurts out an answer.

"The mountains."

It's far, he thinks. Far from anything and secluded and almost safe there.

"The sea." Ron immediately says, just to disagree. They all know it, but Hermione pretends to consider it for a moment.

"Hmm. Yes, I've always liked the sea," she says, and Ron's face remains blank. "but the mountains do seem a bit safer-"

"And why is it that you get to decide?"

Harry sighs and gets up, trying to find something to do with his hands, and leaves Hermione there sputtering. "Well, well I... I wasn't deciding, Ron, I was just, just thinking-"

Ron angrily gets up and begins to pack his things by hand; they've taken to doing things like that just to stay sane. Once everything is prepared Hermione reaches a hand to both of them and holds on a bit more tightly than is maybe necessary. Ron stares at her hand in Harry's, and the next thing Harry feels is a sharp tug under his navel, and the slap of the cold ocean breeze on his face.

* * *

The first time Hermione goes back to her old house after the war, she sits on the porch and stares at the street she grew up on. She wonders if, maybe, that horrid tent is her real home now because although this is the place she lived for most of her childhood, that is the place where she really had to grow up.

Her elderly neighbor looks over a freshly trimmed rose bush and smiles politely. "How've you been?"

Hermione almost laughs at the simple question that she cannot answer. For a moment she wants to say, 'I saved your life. I saved the world.' but instead she just nods very sweetly.

The old woman smiles and turns to go into her house. "Tell your parents hello for me." she says from her doorway.

Hermione almost calls back "But haven't you noticed, they've been gone for months!" but the woman has already disappeared into her safe Muggle home where she won't see anything and won't hear anything and won't know anything about everything.

And then Hermione thinks '_That was almost me._'

* * *

My sister is a freak, she says. My sister goes to a boarding school for freaks all like her, with burning red hair and weird books and no T.V.s there at all.

And all the girls oo and ahh and open their magazines, cross their feet with their little painted toenails.

My sister is so dumb. They hardly even teach her anything at that freak school, she says. My sister won't even do anything sensible at all.

And they all pile their dark hair onto their heads and blow on their nails and brush colors across their pale pale eyes.

Your sister doesn't know anything, he tells her. She doesn't understand.

And the little girl with the burning red hair and the shocking green eyes looks at him, hopeful.

Your name is a flower, he tells her. You're aren't a freak, you're a witch.

The little girl peeks through the crack in the doorway, stares longingly at the girls with the dark dark hair and the colorless eyes. "They burn witches." she says, so small.

A sliver of light falls onto her through the doorway and her hair shoots fire along the hallway. He knows.

* * *

Hermione scrubs even harder at a stain on the floor of Grimmauld Place. George slides across the waxy floor with Ron's prefect badge in hand. "What was Dumbledore _thinking_?"

"I don't know!" Hermione snaps, scooting over to polish over the section that George had mussed up.

Ron looks up, slightly offended. "What do you _mean_ you don't know!" he exclaims, tossing a dirty sponge at her and missing on purpose.

"I didn't mean- Ron, you know, ugh! Just that- I've never been old."

"I have!" Fred shouted as he appeared in the doorway and slid across the same path that George made.

"Growing a beard last year for _breaking the rules_ doesn't make you wise."

"Hmm," said George, looking at Fred, "If breaking the rules doesn't make you wise, then what do you suppose does? Books?"

"No no no, that'll just make you a prefect- oh, wait..." Fred responded, pausing to look at Ron with fake confusion.

Hermione threw a sponge as hard as she could at their heads, but they both ducked at the same time. "Must be the wisdom one gets from old age."

Hermione sighed and smacked a soapy hand to her forehead. Even she joined in on the laughter as the bubbles ran down her wrists and nose.

* * *

_**Note:** Thank you so much for the reviews, they mean so much to me!_

_If you haven't already, check out my oneshot 5 Lies Ron Weasley Told Himself._

_Thanks for everything guys! I'd love to hear from you. :)_


	11. The Shape Of A Lightning Bolt

Fred awoke to a tiny silhouette in his doorway. It took a moment for his eyes to adjust before he recognized the big yellow blanket cradled in her arms. There was a thumb in her mouth quieting her whimpers and fat baby tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Awh, Gin. What is it?"

"I'm scared. Can I sleep with you tonight?"

He didn't reply, just scooted over to make room. Ginny crawled up beside him and slid her legs under his blanket, curling her own into her chest. Fred stayed quiet until her breathing got normal again. "What's so scary?"

Ginny shrugged and pouted. Fred turned on his side so his back was facing her and closed his eyes. Ginny squished her side up to his back and clutched her blanket. "Being alone." she whispered, and George got up crossed the room to Fred's bed, laying down on Ginny's other side.

"Lucky for you there's two of me." he said, and Ginny laughed a little so she wouldn't cry.

o0o0o

Harry was quiet at dinner as he replayed the sound over and over again in his mind. A scream of terror, and his name.

He had finally heard his mother's voice.

And instead of giving him nightmares it was like a lullaby. It echoed in his mind every moment, and he found himself wondering where he could get his hands on a boggart just so he could hear it again...

"What's the matter, Harry?" Hermione asked, very concerned, as she eyed his full plate.

"Yeah," Ron added, stuffing his mouth, "Who died?"

"My parents." Harry replied stiffly, and then he got up and left the two at the table.

o0o0o

She drew a heart in the corner of the diary, and an inky word floated up onto the page.

_Hello. Who are you?_

Ginny dropped her pencil and closed the diary quickly. She lifted the cover and peeked inside to make sure the word was still on the page, and then opened it all the way and scribbled a note underneath.

_I'm Ginny. Are you a magic diary?_

Instantly the next words appeared.

_Are you a magic girl?_

And when she realized the answer was yes, she finally got to thinking that maybe she was really something _special_.

o0o0o

Ron woke up with his legs tangled in his sheets and the spot beside him empty. He extracted himself from the bed and walked into the living room, looking for Hermione. He found her sitting on the love-seat in her socks and sweatpants weeping heavily over the open book in her lap.

She looked up when she saw him standing there and made a great effort to wipe her face off and squeeze out "Oh, I d-didn't mean to w-wake y-you." before he kissed her on the top of the head and walked to the kitchen.

He came back with a steaming cup of tea and handed it to Hermione, and then squished into the love-seat beside her. He put his arms around her shoulders and she leaned her head on his chest, still crying loudly.

"So what's happening with them?" he asked with tired concern, nodding toward her book.

Gripping the pages she explained a story of love lost and gained only to be lost again, and he held her and nodded and told her "I love you." but never "It's okay," because he knew she had read enough to understand that not every story ends in Happily Ever After like theirs did.

o0o0o

Harry's first friend was a grasshopper. They met while Harry was pulling weeds, and for the few minutes that they were friends the grasshopper was very polite.

"It's hot." Harry told him, and he rubbed his legs together. The sun beat down on the garden.

"The moon is hiding." Harry said, blinking into the sunlight, and the grasshopper jumped from the window sill to the flower bed.

"Like me." Harry said, and then he said goodbye and the grasshopper rubbed his legs together and a little boy went back to his cupboard.

o0o0o

"You looked really nice at the Ball." Harry told Hermione when she was looking particularly down.

"I know." she responded with more venom than Harry deserved because she happened to be staring at Ron.

"You didn't know." he said.

Her voice was softer this time, and sorry. "I know."

o0o0o

During their time in the tent Ron and Hermione had a fragile agreement that they (usually) upheld. He would lie, and she would pretend to believe him.

"Does it hurt?" she would ask, looking at his shoulder.

"No." he would lie, looking at the ground.

"Is this alright?" she would ask, handing him a goopy bowl of leaves and mushrooms.

"Uh, sure." he would lie, closing his eyes and imagining a thick pie.

"Are we going to die?" she would ask on a cloudy night.

"No one will die." he would lie, placing a hand over hers and lacing their fingers. "I promise."

"I shouldn't have done that." she would say, pulling herself up from his bed after she had fallen asleep next to him one night.

"It's nothing." he would lie to cover up the fact that it was everything.

"Are we doing the right thing?" she would ask when Harry was out of earshot.

"I don't know." he would lie, but he did know, and it was right.

"I'm worried about him, aren't you?" she would ask, staring at Harry's hunched form with tears in her eyes.

"Of course." he would lie as his heart ripped open.

"You'll always stay?" she would ask on a cloudy night.

"Always." he would lie, staring at the opening of the tent.

"Do you love me?" he asked in the rain.

"Of course I do, Ron. I love both of you." she said in earnest.

The next night he was gone.

o0o0o

Hermione knew that her life was one of extremes. For every adventure there was a quiet summer in a Muggle home with her mother and father. For every night she thought she might die there was a morning of sleeping late, waking midday and rolling over to grab a book. For every time her heart broke for her two best friends there was a time that they made her laugh until tears leaked from her eyes. For every argument with Ron there was a clear moment where his hair shone just right and she remembered she loved him. For every enemy there was a friend.

Statistically Hermione knew that the good times outweighed her struggles, but in her heart she knew that she wouldn't trade any part of it for anything.

o0o0o

"Alright everyone, bedtime!"

The Weasley living room turned into a mass of red headed children scampering about. Protests bounced off the walls and Mrs. Weasley finally put her hands up. "Would you like a story first?"

"Yes!" Ginny squealed, rushing over to her mother's feet and plopping down.

Ron took a seat on the couch only to be shoved aside by Bill, who sat next to Charlie. Fred sat on the arm of a chair that Mr. Weasley sat in and George leaned up against it. Ron found a comfy spot on the rug and everyone's attention turned to Mrs. Weasley.

"What story would you like to hear?"

"Dragons!" Charlie called out, and Ginny shrieked "No!"

Ron patted his sister on the back while Mr. Weasley suggested a nice Muggle "fairy-tale", as they called them, that Ginny might like. The boys all groaned.

"Tell a war story." Bill offered, and Ginny looked uneasy until George piped up.

"Tell the one about Harry Potter!"

"Yeah!" Ron agreed, and red hair bounced up and down as all of the children nodded vigorously.

"Well now, once upon a time-"

"Only a few years back." Fred whispered to George.

"A _long_ time ago." Mr. Weasley insisted.

"_Once upon a time_ there lived a very bad wizard. He was too evil to even be named."

"Voldemort." Bill whispered, and Charlie's eyes grew wide at his brother's daring.

"Too many people were hurt by him. No one could seem to stop him."

"Except for Harry Potter!" Ron exclaimed.

"_Except,_" his mother picked up, "for a little baby. Harry."

"Harry Potter." Ginny giggled.

"He was the only person to survive an attack from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. And somehow that night Harry defeated him."

"Tell about the scar!" George called out.

"Harry Potter lived, but with a mark, right here" she said, tracing the pattern along her forehead, "in the shape of a lightning bolt."

Ron lifted up his bangs and traced a lighting bolt along his skin. "_Wicked_."

"Bed, now." Mr. Weasley said, standing up and stretching.

"Aw, c'mon Dad!" Fred whined, but the kids trudged up the stairs with little complaint. At the door to her room Ginny stopped and grabbed Ron's wrist.

"Think he's real? Harry Potter?" she said, and then smiled- all baby teeth and shining hope.

"'Course he is. Mum said so, didn't she? He has to be."

"Yeah." With that Ginny disappeared into her room and Ron continued up the stairs to his room where he would lay down and dream about what it would be like to save the world.


	12. Little Sailboat

Once when Harry closed his eyes to picture his mother's face all that came up was Hermione's.

* * *

"It hasn't been easy, you know!" Harry's arms are in the air and he's practically shouting at her, begging her temper to flare up. "It wasn't some sort of a holiday!"

Ginny sits quietly in the grass and tries not to think of her dead brother.

"It's not as if I ran off to have a bit of fun with Ron and Hermione-"

"And why shouldn't you?" she asks simply.

"and forgot all about you. I was keeping an eye on you the whole time. I was thinking about you the whole time."

"I knew." her voice is earnest and her eyes are quiet.

"I was saving the world! I was saving _you_!"

Ginny sits in the grass with the rubble piled around her.

"STOP! Just stop looking at me like that!" Harry falls to his knees, exhausted by his screaming.

"You're angry." she says, "I understand. But I won't yell at you."

"I KILLED HIM!" Harry shouts, and his words are strangled.

"You had to. He was pure evil. You had to."

Harry's body shakes and he retches onto the stone.

"It's alright now."

"Not _him_." Harry moans, his forehead on the cool ground. "Fred."

Ginny blinks but no tears come out. Harry writhes on the ground, and she realizes why he came to her with this. He needs her temper. He needs to be hurt to feel better.

But she has nothing left to say. "It's over." she whispers, and then the girl who waited for the boy who lived sits in the grass and waits.

* * *

Molly Weasley comes downstairs to find her youngest son curled in an armchair with his head in his hands.

"You used to sits like that when you were a little boy and you had a nightmare," she says, startling him. "So, what's the nightmare."

Ron sits with his arms resting on his knees and his head hanging low.

"Tea?" she asks, and he shakes his head. Molly Weasley stares patiently at her son. "I know you three are planning something." she says without accusation.

Ron looks guiltily at the ground and his red hair falls over his eyes.

"It's alright, Ron. I know." she soothes, reaching out to him.

"But this isn't about that!" he bursts. He is breathing heavily with panic dancing in his eyes, and a hurting mother drops her hand to her side.

"You're afraid." she states softly. Ron looks away. She knows his eyes. "Ron," she starts, but he cuts her off.

"I can't do it!" he gasps, tears collecting in the corners of his bloodshot eyes.

"You have to." she whispers.

"But Mum, (her heart breaks at the way his voice is shaking) I-I can't save the world. I'm not smart or skilled or anything special. I'm not _Harry Potter!_"

Molly Weasley grabs her son's face in her hands and holds it fiercely. "The only thing that kept Harry alive is something you have to. A mother who loves you."

In the future she will remember that as the last time she held her boy, because he had to be a man from that day forward.

* * *

Hermione stepped outside the tent and surveyed the area they had Apperated to. If she closed her eyes all she could smell were the trees and all she could hear was the sound of the shallow creek passing over the stones. It was almost nice. She walked toward the edge of the creek and, hopping from foot to foot, removed her shoes and socks. She crunched the pebbles lining the edge with her heels and then curled her toes to pick a few up. Balancing on one foot she reached down and dropped the pebbles from her toes into her open hand.

The sunlight made some of them look purple, like the marbles her mother used to pour in vases at home. She wondered for a moment if Monica Wilkins liked purple marbles.

Hermione ventured out into the middle of the stream where the current pulled at her ankles. She dug her toe into the sandy bottom and a cloud of dust puffed up and was swept away by the current. Her eyes followed the sand and landed on a flat rock about the size of a dinner plate (_what are we going to eat tonight,_ she wondered) and she slid her feet along until she reached the rock and stepped up.

The rock is hot and dry and she stood for a moment, letting the warmth travel through the bottoms of her feet and up her legs. Then she leapt a leg at a time from rock to rock, only slipping once, but enough to dampen most of her pants. Finally she waded back and placed one foot on the dinner plate rock and the other on the nearest stone and stayed like that, with her legs making a grand archway over the creek.

She dipped her head down and scrunched her nose at her reflection, and the doubled over completely until her head was upside-down, peeking between her legs at Harry. He was leaning against a tree trunk reading with the sky stretching out below him.

Hermione rolled the pebbles around in her hand and tossed a purple one into the water. It broke the surface with a ploink and then sunk below.

She threw a brownish one in the air and opened her mouth to catch it like candy, but lost it in the sun.

She threw a green one at a tree but missed, scaring a bird from its branch.

A leaf drifted from the branch and floated toward the stream. It spun a few times before it landed in the water a few feet in front of her. The current carried it to her like a little sailboat and Hermione dropped a pebble onto it; a little passenger for the voyage.

The leaf sunk under the weight and flapped at the bottom of the stream, pinned down by the pebble.

She turned on the rock (so small that one foot had to stand on the other) and threw a pebble at the tent. It hit the side of the canvas and the tent echoed, as if hollow.

She tossed a purple one at Harry. It rolled down into the crease of his book and he ignored it.

Hermione laughed a little and threw another at him, hitting his shoulder.

He didn't look at her.

She threw another, harder, to get his attention. "_Harry!_" It bounced off his shirt and she laughed, throwing another. "Harry!"

When he looked up she pegged him in the forehead. "Hey!" she said, and she slung the rest of the pebbles at him when he didn't answer. She lost her footing and stumbled into the water, catching herself with one arm. Her breathing picked up and her arm moved on its own, hurling handful after handful of dripping muck onto the shore, the grass, the trunk where Harry sat.

"HARRY!" she shrieked, and when his eyes didn't rise from the page she closed her fist around a smooth rock and threw it with all her might, eyes pinched closed, another frustrated screaming ripping from her.

The rock collided with the locket hanging around Harry's neck, making a sickening cracking noise.

Harry slowly picked the rock up from his lap, stood, and- looking straight at Hermione- threw it into the woods behind him. Then he picked up the book and walked into the tent, leaving Hermione huddled in the shallow water under the quiet sunlight, struggling to catch her breath.

* * *

Hermione tries to lend a little understanding to Ron when he becomes impatient in the tent.

_It isn't his fault,_ she consoles herself, _he hasn't had the experience. _

It's true, to an extent. Ron had always been surrounded with people, at the Burrow and then at Hogwarts. He had never had to be alone, not really. Not like she and Harry had.

Ron had never had trouble making friends. And even if a friend couldn't come over he had a house full of kids to keep him company. He never spent a lonely day at school only to come home to an empty house.

The Burrow could get cramped at times, sure, but there was always a wide field one step away. Ron had never counted out the space of a cupboard (six hands wide and eleven hands long) and known that was the only thing that was his.

So it doesn't bother them as much. To Harry, the tent is a palace, and to herself two people is practically a circus. She can deal with the long hours alone on watch, has ways to entertain herself with just her mind. Harry'll sit in the same spot for hours, and his limbs won't beg for movement like a normal boy's.

But Ron... for him everything is confining. For him it's all so different and new and hard. So Hermione tries to be a little understanding, really, she does.

And when he yells she takes his side. And when he's hungry she gives him her food. And when he's bored she reads to him. And when he's angry she understands, she does, and she helps.

But when he leaves she breaks in half, completely severed, unfixable even by magic.

**_Note:_**_ I would just like to thank everyone who reviews this fic and any of my others; it really makes everything worthwhile. I would like to remind all of you if you have any comments, concerns, are looking for some nice indie songs, or just need a friend, I am always just a PM or a review away. _


	13. The Day We Buried Him

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Molly lied, blinking against the tears in her eyes. Her sniffling was the only sound in the quiet morning. "The sky looks just like it did the day we buried him."

Arthur joined his wife at the window. He sighed. "A beautiful day."

"But missing something," Molly met her husband's eyes and stared at him, hard. Then she opened the window and left to start breakfast.

* * *

Ron looked down at Harry's hands and found them to be smaller than his own. This was an extremely peculiar feeling because they were now attached to his body- rather, _Harry's_ body- and he was not used to them. A momentary glance around the room resulted in Ron seeing Harry standing shirtless with Hermione's bra in his hand. His infuriation quickly turned to bashfulness when he remembered that technically it was Hermione who was standing shirtless with her bra in her hand. He quickly looked back down at his- _Harry's_- hands and tried to erase the sight (it was light pink) from his memory.

While everyone continued to change Ron snuck a look at himself in the reflection of one of the kitchen appliances. Looking out through blurry eyes he reached up and hesitantly touched his new face, his unruly black hair, his short nose. He wiggled his arms and found his shirt more than roomy, and ran a thumb over the lightning scar.

When Ron reached into the pile of clothing the back of his hand barely brushed a discarded light pink bra. His heart raced as if it had zapped him, and he lifted his head to make sure Hermione didn't see, but all he saw was a room full of Harry. Ron gathered up the clothes and stood.

A room full of Harry. It didn't feel so much different than when Ron walked into any room next to Harry, really. All anyone saw when they looked at them was a lighting scar.

Ron fumbled around in his pocket and pulled out a pair of round glasses. He rested them on his short nose and stared his newly clear surroundings through a frame. Little circles around the people he cared about, all Harry tonight. He wondered if, when he looked at his friends, this was all he sometimes saw.

That night, after he saved his life and Tonks' life and really Harry's life if he thought about it, Ron stood in the grass outside of his house and watched the girl he loved run toward him. He still wore Harry's clothes, and his honor and fear and the glory that comes with being Chosen, when Ron Weasley rested his lips in Hermione's hair and looked at his family through little circles, thinking to himself: _So this is how it feels._

He would carry that thought with him in the days that would come.

* * *

The sun shone down on the Burrow and the moon hid on the other side of the world.

"Ginny," Harry said, almost entirely a sigh, as he sunk into the chair next to her.

"Where's Teddy?" she asked as a reflex.

Harry looked slightly hurt and she wished she had asked without the note of bitterness in her voice. "Hermione is watching him."

"Okay," Ginny said, and she hoped she sounded very sweet.

"Gin."

"What is it?"

"Teddy, he- well, he said his first word today. Just now." Harry looked completely distressed.

"Harry! That's great! I can't believe- already he- what did he say?" she gushed, while Harry put a hand to his forehead.

"He said Da-da."

"Oh."

Harry bit down hard on his lip.

"To you?" Ginny asked after a moment.

"To me." Harry responded.

The sunlight snuck through the window and covered the two. "And what did you do?"

"I picked him up. I told him good job."

"Harry," Ginny sighed.

"Well what was I supposed to do? Tell him the truth?"

"Of course not! I just-"

"He's just a kid! A baby! He can't help what happened to his parents. I can't just let him grow up as an orphan. If I can save an innocent kid, I have to."

"You mean like a kid with a lightning scar?" she asked.

The sun shone bright and the moon stayed hidden. Harry didn't respond.

* * *

"Do you... Do you think I'm pretty, at all?" Hermione asked rather abruptly one day while the three were studying out by the lake.

"No," Ron answered too quickly.

"...Yes," Harry answered too slowly.

The wind blew the pages of their books backwards while Hermione narrowed her eyes in concentration at the two boys. After a moment of uncomfortable silence she said "Alright," and turned back to her work.

At the end of the hour the trio packed up their things and started up to the castle. Ron lingered for a moment to lean over to Harry and ask "What did you say _that_ for?" viciously before hurrying to catch up with Hermione.

"But I- you're the one who..." Harry sputtered, but it was two late. He watched as Ron slowed down next to Hermione and said some smart remark, earning him a slap in the arm. She ducked her head and sped up, and though she couldn't have hit him hard enough for it to hurt, Harry saw Ron's hand float up to the spot Hermione had smacked him and stay there for a moment longer than necessary.

* * *

Three kids sat around a long table in a tent.

Hermione lounged with her cheek on her hand, looking at the two boys. "If you could go anywhere in the world, where would it be?"

"Oh, definitely here," Ron said with a smile, throwing his arms out in a grand gesture.

Harry smiled ruefully and Hermione gave a flat laugh. "Of, come off it Ron. Really."

"No, _really_!" he insisted. "No class, no parents, no annoying Ginny..."

Ron elbowed Harry in the side and Harry rolled his eyes while smiling. "_Hey,_" he said softly.

"I know, I know," Ron continued, getting up from the table and walking through the tent. "But think about it, living in a tent- it's every kid's dream. And hey, look at this: bunks!" he finished, flopping down on the bottom bed.

"I always did like camping," Hermione said, raising her head up from the table, "When I was younger my parents used to take me to this forest, and-"

Her words died in her throat as soon as she realized what she was saying.

"I used to camp in our backyard," Harry picked up quickly, mostly just to distract Hermione. "Dudley hated it out there, but I liked to sleep outside."

Hermione quietly looked down at her hands.

Ron sat on the bed, leaning back on his elbows. "And who would have thought that instead of being at school you'd be camping with your two best friends? Everyone in History of Magic would kill to be here!"

The boys realized after Ron said it that they too were killing to be there. They laughed because it was the only thing they could do. Their laughter built at the ridiculousness of risking death to get out of History of Magic, and Ron's head was in his hands and Harry's thrown back when Ron asked, "So, Hermione, what about you? Anywhere in the world, where would you go?"

She sniffled. "Home."

The boys' smiles dropped and Hermione made a face that tried to be strong but faltered. Her chin trembled and a small whine escaped her. She squeezed her eyes shut just as the tears began leaking out.

"Hey, hey" Ron soothed her as he got up and walked over to the table. He sat next to her and put his arms around her, and Harry reached across and grabbed her hand. "It's gonna be alright. Don't cry. It's gonna be fine."

Hermione nodded and tried to control her breathing, obviously embarrassed, but her resolve broke and she let a sob loose. She held onto Harry's hand tighter and tucked her other arm in front of her, right between her heart and Ron's. They stayed like that for most of the night.

In the morning Harry woke up first to find he had fallen asleep on the table. Ron was doubled over on the bench across from him, and Harry shook him awake with one hand. Ron groaned and sat up disoriented, and squinted his eyes at Harry when he mouthed "Hermione."

Ron's eyes flickered over in the direction of Harry's slight head nod and landed on Hermione making up the beds they didn't sleep in. "Morning boys," she said cheerily as she fluffed a pillow. "I took the last watch, it really was a beautiful sunrise."

"Yeah," Harry agreed hopefully. He rose and went to change, but Ron's gaze remained on Hermione for a bit longer. Her face was dirty where the tears had collected last night. He walked over and took some bedding out of her hands.

"Here, let me help you," he told her, looking at her kindly. She let out a small gush of air and stared at him, almost smiling, and Ron hoped she understood how much he meant what he was saying.


	14. How Unafraid

"I'm going to see if I can find anything for us to eat," Ron announced at the tent's flap.

Harry nodded without looking and Hermione sat up, releasing the locket which she had been cradling in her hand. "Would you mind if I came along?" she asked, something a little desperate hidden in her voice.

Ron's eyebrows raised the tiniest bit. "Uh, sure," he said, and his voice was lighter than it had been before.

Hermione pulled the locket from around her neck, struggling a bit when it tangled in her hair, and then walked to the steps where Harry sat with the map. "Harry, would you..."

Harry tiredly took the locket in his hands and forced a smile. "Go on, then," he said, and Ron hesitated at the opening. "Something with a bit of meat on its bones, if you can," Harry suggested. Ron nodded and turned, and only when the two were out the door did Harry put the locket on and allow his shoulders to slump.

Ron and Hermione walked in silence for a while, their breath puffing out into the air in front of them. When they got into the thick of the woods Ron slowed down and Hermione kept pace with him, crunching the leaves under her feet.

"Ron, stop."

Ron instinctively whipped his wand out and tugged Hermione behind him.

"No, no, no," she said, batting his arm down where he had been blocking her side. "Nothing like that, I'm sorry."

"Oh," he breathed, and he lowered his wand. He moved to take a step back from her, but Hermione grabbed his sleeve, stopping him.

"Don't," she said. Ron looked down at her and she looked down at the ground. "It's- cold."

"Oh," he repeated. "Right. Well, we could keep moving to warm us up," but she didn't let go of his sleeve, "...or we could sit... for a while."

"I'm a bit tired," Hermione said, though the only thing different about her was a hitch in her breathing.

The two sat in the woods with their backs against a tree, arms overlapping. "Better?" Ron asked.

"Yes," Hermione said, and chanced a small smile.

Ron smiled back. "So did you see something earlier?"

"Oh, no, sorry. I just stopped you because..."

"Yea?" Ron said, turning toward her.

"I just-" Hermione faltered, fiddling with the ends of her scarf. "I don't know. With everything that's going on, I- I keep thinking about how important certain people are that I just take for granted. People that I love and I never told them enough..." Her voice began to shake as she pulled on her scarf. "It's just so, so _hard._ Everything is so hard to say and I never know exactly the moment to- to,"

"It's okay, Hermione." Ron curled his hand around her own and her fingers stilled. "You don't always have to say it. I mean, even if you don't, they know."

After a moment Hermione pulled her eyes up from their hands and looked straight at Ron's face. "But are you sure? Are you sure they know?"

A bush near them rustled and a rabbit raced out of it. Ron's eyes followed the direction of the noise just in time to see the rabbit take shelter behind a tree.

"What was that?" Hermione asked, whipping her head around. "Did you hear that? What was it?"

"Probably nothing," Ron said, and she turned back to look at him. "I didn't see anything. Let's just stay here a while longer."

Her head dropped onto his shoulder. "Alright," she said.

And for the moment, it was.

* * *

When they're grabbing his arms and pulling them from her and Harry is thrashing and he is yelling for her and she is just standing there in the dim light, all Ron can think about is how bloody beautiful she looks, and how unafraid.

It's mad. He loves her.

* * *

It's quiet in the house, and the woman's sniffles echo through the rooms. A little boy walks into the kitchen, careful.

"Why are you crying, Aunt Petunia?"

The woman lifts her head and glances down at the boy, not much higher that the table itself. "Never mind, Harry. Get to bed."

"Where is Uncle Vernon?"

"I said get to bed." she snaps. Her eyes are cold and the boy's are blank.

He turns toward a cupboard and she drops her head back into her hands and mutters "Just like your mother."

A little boy goes unnoticed in the doorway.

Dusk approaches, and when the woman lifts her head again a toy soldier stands on the table next to her elbow.

* * *

An owl arrives from Hogwarts and Molly Weasley jumps at it.

Unfurling the rolled parchment, she reads:

_We in the Gryffindor House are sorry to hear of Ronald Weasley's illness. We wish him a speedy recovery._

_Please do not hesitate to let us know if there is anything at all we can do to help._

_Minerva Mcgonagall_

Molly Weasley stands in her empty house with only a clock to look at, and writes her response on the back of the parchment. She sends the owl back out the window and sits on the edge of a chair, staring at a clock but unaware of the time.

_Keep Ginny safe._


	15. A Foot In Both Worlds

You're just one kid, but sometimes they treat you like an army.

Call it luck, call it fate, call it who you know and the things you've lived through. Call it magic.

Call out to her in the middle of the night: _Ginny_, or, sometimes, _Mom_. But never Hermione, who is always there to wake you up.

They call you Chosen, they call you Hunted, and The Boy Who Lived but never The Man- as if they weren't expecting your luck to last forever.

And you call yourself Harry, just Harry, and so does Ron and mostly Hermione (but there are times when she looks at you like maybe you'll save the world like the rest of them do.)

So what do you see when you look in the mirror? Not a scar or spectacles or a hero, but always the faint outline of your parents behind you, where you're sure they would've stood.

* * *

One day Rose asked her mother a question no one else had ever dared; "What made you stay behind?"

Hermione looked at her daughter and almost told her _because I knew it was the right thing to do. _But the look in Rose's eye was so strikingly familiar that Hermione knew she would have to tell the truth to the one person that would understand.

"I was a coward," she said.

Rose stared patiently at Hermione. "Mom," she said.

"Can you imagine a world where fighting a war was less frightening than confronting your feelings?"

"Yes." Rose looked at her hands.

"Is this a confession?" Hermione asked.

"I know his family tortured you."

"Plenty of things tortured me. Your father, for example."

"Mom," Rose repeated, too much force behind the word.

"We didn't end a war so you could continue fighting it, you know."

"I'm a coward," Rose admitted.

"One grows out of that, I find." her mother replied.

* * *

It is the first time he's stood in front of a birthday cake alone.

* * *

After a year of magic Hermione hid her wand at the bottom of her muggle bag and took a muggle plane to her parents' Australian address. She stood outside the lovely muggle home with the manicured lawn and the warm air and thought with a foot in both worlds, one can only maintain balance for so long.

* * *

_**Note:** I have been getting quite a few negative reviews (mainly about my treatment of Ron), so I feel the need to go ahead and make the statement: this fic will not appeal to everyone. By posting it, I am not saying any of my speculations are true, merely that I wanted to explore the possibilities. If I continue to get complaints about Harry and Hermione's friendship then I will eliminate the "main character" section of the description of this fic. Sorry if that makes it more difficult to find. I'm sorry if you don't like this fic, but please respect that I post it for the readers who do._

_Thanks to everyone._


	16. Come Into Focus

On his first night back in the tent Ron was woken up from his sleep by a voice with a familiar bossy tone.

"Hey," Hermione said. "Hey, get up."

Ron drowsily raised his head and waited for her face to come into focus. "'Mione," he mumbled, raising a hand to rub his eye.

"Scoot over, I need in," she ordered. Ron blinked.

"In... in the bed?"

"Yes!" she hissed. "Come on, then," she said when he didn't move.

Ron's face was bewildered, but he quickly scooted to the far side of the bed. His back was pressed up against the canvas of the tent and he propped himself up with one arm on his pillow. Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, facing him. Ron gulped and tried to think what the chivalrous thing to do would be. He cleared his throat once and asked "Are you cold?"

Hermione only glared at him and reached for his arm. She tugged on it, and just as Ron was about to lace his fingers with hers she said, pointedly, "Move."

"Oh," Ron breathed, and, blushing, he removed his arm from the pillow. Hermione lifted it up and grabbed her copy of Beadle The Bard which had been comfortably resting underneath.

Ron touched his head briefly and asked "What was that doing there?"

"Nevermind that. Hand me my bag, will you?" Hermione said sharply, pointing at Ron's feet. Surely enough, tangled in a mess of blankets was Hermione's beaded bag. Ron reached for it and handed it to her.

Hermione cast her eyes around the bed once more, and then leaned into Ron, sliding an arm around him. Her face flushed.

"My pillow," Hermione clarified, pulling her pillow out from behind him and sitting up again.

"Oh, uh," Ron stammered, turning red, "why was that..." He looked at Hermione's orderly bed with its blankets tucked in. It looked as though it hadn't been slept in for weeks.

Hermione looked at the ground, clutching her pillow, and then abruptly stood and began to walk toward her bed.

"I missed you so much," Ron confessed. Hermione stopped in the middle of the tent. She stood completely still for a moment, hugging the pillow to her chest, and then without turning around she walked straight to her bed and fell asleep with her back to him.

* * *

_**Note:** I love Harry Potter so much._


	17. The Sound Of War

Rose sat on the floor of the Burrow fiddling with the wireless channels. She was about to turn the dial as a sad tune droned out when she saw her mother's head lift slowly from her father's shoulder.

"What is it, Mum?" she asked.

"I thought..." Hermione's brows lowered the tiniest bit. "Never mind."

Rose folded her hands on the table and rested her chin on them. The music leaked from the wireless wearily into the air. It wasn't a pleasant song; it seemed to hook on her insides and drag them down. The chorus came like a wave and her Uncle Harry stilled.

Harry set the chess piece down and Albus scrunched his face.

"That wasn't even a move, Dad." James said lazily, looking over Albus' shoulder.

Harry's face was trained on the wireless. His eyes met Hermione's, and she gave him the saddest smile Rose had ever seen.

Peacefully, her Uncle Harry returned the smile and her mother closed her eyes and snuggled her head back into her father's shoulder.

Ron lowered his head onto Hermione's and looked at Harry briefly; the look of a best friend who was sorry long after he was forgiven. Then Ron placed his hand over Hermione's and Harry turned back to his son.

Rose watched this entire exchange very carefully while the song rumbled in her ears.

Her hand hovered over the dial when she heard the faintest of sounds- her uncle roughly humming along to the tune.

_Hey little train! Wait for me!  
I was held in chains but now I'm free  
I'm hanging in there, don't you see  
In this process of elimination  
_

The song came out strangled, and Rose quickly turned it off. She finally understood. It was the sound of war.

* * *

"Hey, mate," Ron said softly.

"Hey, Ron," Harry replied happily. "Listen, have you finished your Potions essay? Because I was thinking if we could get some help from Hermione then we could go practice-"

"_Harry_," Ron begged.

"What?"

Ron sighed, his shoulders slouching forward. "Nothing. I uh, I don't think practice is a good idea."

"Well if we want to win-"

"Look," Ron interjected, "I just came by to say hi and see how you're feeling."

"What're you talking about?" Harry asked. "Is this about my scar? Did Hermione put you up to this?"

"No, it's not-"

"Well then what is it?"

Ron rubbed his face and leaned forward with his hands on his knees.

Harry stood and said "If you don't want to talk about it then I'm going to find Hedwig. I need to send a note to Hagrid about-"

"Harry, stop!" Ron stood too and grabbed Harry by the shoulders. "Please," he continued more softly, "You have to stop."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Harry replied quickly. "But we need to get to the library and find Hermione. I need to be able to breathe underwater by tomorrow. Are you coming?"

Ron hesitated and hung his head. When he raised it there was a strained smile on his face. "Yeah, Harry. I'm coming, 'course I am."

"Good," Harry said, slinging an arm around Ron's shoulder. "I'll take the Invisibility Cloak. It's late and I don't want Mrs. Norris to catch us."

"Yeah, sure," Ron said.

Harry hurried along and Ron shuffled behind him. "Check the map," Harry whispered.

"Oh, uh," Ron mumbled, fumbling in his pockets. "Yeah- yeah, I have it."

"Is anyone coming?"

"Naw, the coast is clear."

"Quietly. Where's Snape?"

"Sorry," Ron replied, now whispering as well. "Snape's um, in his office."

"Alright," Harry said, "Let's go. We have to open the Chamber and get Ginny."

Ron swallowed thickly. A knock was heard at the door.

"Visiting hours are over," came a nurse's muffled voice.

"Did you hear that?" Harry asked.

"Yeah," Ron whispered, holding up a finger to the window in the doorway. "We had better get back to the Common Room before we get caught."

"Okay, get under the cloak."

Ron crouched behind Harry and shuffled along slowly. After I few steps Harry turned around.

"I-I have to go." Ron said, his voice cracking.

"Yeah, I'm pretty tired too. See you in the morning, Ron."

"See you in the morning, Harry," Ron said, hugging his best mate. Then he walked out the door and into the hospital ward.

Petunia sat in a chair, worriedly wringing her hands. When Ron came out she stood.

"How was he today?" she implored, desperate.

"Not to great," Ron said, sheepishly rubbing the back of his head. "Really scattered, kept talking about Hermione and Ginny and the rest."

"Oh," Petunia squeaked. She studied Ron, staring at his feet, and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Thank you for always visiting him. I know it's hard, but you're the only person he seems to trust. Can't stand it when Vernon or Dudley or I so much as enter the room." Ron raised his head as though he were about to say something, but Petunia cut him off with a small shake of her head. "Really, we do appreciate it. I know you two were good friends before the accident, but to visit him for this long... it's very kind of you."

They stood in silence for a moment, before a muffled scream fought its way through Harry's closed door.

_"NO! SIRIUS!"_

A few nurses pushed past them, and Ron tried to get around them. A nurse put a hand on his chest, keeping him back. "Please," she said, "Visiting hours are over."

"But," Ron stammered as the nurse turned away, "You don't understand- that's, he thinks that's his godfather. Please, let me in- please, he needs-"

"I think we know what he needs, Mr. Weasley. Thank you." The nurse replied sternly as she opened the door.

"Harry! Harry!" Ron shouted over her head, "It's alright, Harry, it's alright!"

"Ron?" Harry croaked, and the door was shut.

Ron leaned his head against the door for a long while, listening to Harry argue with the nurses, screaming spells at them. Eventually Petunia walked over and steered him away with her hands on his shoulders. "You know," she said at length, "the doctor says he's quite brilliant for coming up with all of that. That the world he lives in is incredibly detailed. It's like..."

"Magic." Ron finished.

"Oh," Petunia said, and blinked back tears. "I suppose, I suppose that's right."


	18. Something To Make Her Brave

Each morning when Hermione got ready she fastened her heart onto her sleeve. It was the only illogical thing about her and she hated it, but for all of the knowledge in the world she was never able to figure out how to tuck it safely away in her chest.

Across the tent Harry slipped his jumper on, attempting to hide the target on his back. It never worked.

Ron entered the tent flap, his insecurities hanging heavily from a chain around his neck. His watch had just ended, and there were deep, dark circles under his eyes. The sight made Hermione want to cry.

"My turn for the locket, Ron," she said, holding out her hand to him.

He hesitated, looking at her outstretched hand. "I think it's me for a bit longer." he muttered.

"_Ron,_" she insisted, trying to sound forceful but struggling, as the idea of the horcrux hanging around her neck wasn't entirely appealing.

Ron's fingers curled around the locket. He slowly lifted the chain from around his neck and let out a breath. Still, he did not pass it to Hermione, and simply stood there looking quite torn.

"Would you just give it to her already?" Harry butted in, sounding quite impatient, and Ron quickly looked at the floor and passed the horcrux to Hermione. He seemed quite disgusted with himself, and when Harry passed him on his way outside he said "She can handle it, mate," under his breath.

Hermione's sleeve was pulled tight with the weight of her heart, full of pain and love and fear for these two boys. She stood quietly next to Ron, feeling that if he said so much as one kind word to her she might crumble, and watched as Harry left their little tent and walked out into the cold, the target blinking brightly on his back in the thin morning light.

* * *

"Strange, isn't it?" Ron whispers to him one night as the two boys sit on watch outside the tent, "That we can be so lost when everyone is trying to find us?"

Harry thinks Ron means so much more than the way the words sound, and that maybe it's the exact way to explain how he's felt his whole life.

* * *

In her first year of Hogwarts she wrote many letters to home. Later on, Hermione would wish she could say that she tried to appear strong for her mother so she wouldn't worry, but at the time she was eleven, far away from everything she knew, and crushingly lonely.

Each letter was packed with tears and complaints about choosing partners in class, and eating alone, and hearing the other girls talk about her as she fell asleep. As sad as she was in those first few months, each time she rolled up the parchment and tied it to an owl's leg a tiny thrill went through her; this was a _magical_ place.

She wanted to be in Ravenclaw. Desperately. In her very first letter home she told her mother she had been sorted into the house known for courage and not intelligence. In her reply her mother did little to hide her surprise. At night Hermione fantasized over what it would be like in the Ravenclaw house; there were probably tons of girls just like her, and they wouldn't call her a know-it-all, and everyone would always be studying or reading and it wouldn't be strange... and perhaps she would even have friends.

Her letters grew shorter as the workload increased, and in one reply her mother asked, "Why not try to be friends with those two boys you're always writing about?" and Hermione blushed crimson at the thought of _being friends_ with Harry and Ron. Her logical mind scoffed at the notion; it was unheard of!

"They are the _worst_ of all!" she scribbled angrily in a letter, but over time her Ravenclaw dreams faded just a little, and were replaced by something else.

It was stupid, really, how much their opinions mattered to her. They were two of the most immature slackers in their entire class. But... for some reason her heart stung at the thought...

Maybe, she thought as she snuck behind them, begging them not to meet Malfoy and to be logical and just _go back to bed_, it was because they were reckless, and she was looking for something to make her brave.

Of course, that wasn't exactly how things played out. In truth, Ron succeeded only in making her so much of a coward that she hid in a bathroom for half a day, crying over slain hopes and dreams and wishes piled at her feet that the greatest magic of all would have been to make one kid actually _like_ her.

And even upon her rescue she knew they didn't like her. But they saved her, and that was something. That night, laying in bed, was the first of many nights to come in which she realized she very well could have died. She didn't feel so brave after that, but she did feel a (possibly false) sense of security around the two boys, which maybe made her braver, just a little (as long as they were with her.)

But everyone else in Gryffindor was brave by themselves, and she knew it. They didn't need Harry or Ron to make them feel safe. Which is why, one night while visiting Hagrid, she brought it up the touchy subject.

"I think I should have been in Ravenclaw," she said quietly, almost afraid that the sorting hat would hear her and switch her right then.

Hagrid put his massive teacup down and looked at her kindly, with understanding eyes.

"But ye see, Hermione, ye came to Hogwarts when ye didn't know a soul, didn't even know a thing 'bout magic. That right there is the bravest thing I ever heard."

And for the rest of her life Hermione carried with her two boys and those words, and the courage came right along with them.


	19. Voices On The Wireless

He loves his friends. Loves them more than his own family, maybe, or at least just as much. Ever since he was a boy he's known how important they are. Their lives over his, he knows, and he means it. He always has. He _loves_ them.

But that doesn't change the fact that Ronald Weasley has never been starving before.

It isn't just hunger of the stomach. Not for him, anymore. It's far past that- there's an aching hunger in his body now, and he can feel it all over. He craves nutrients. It's unbearable. Keeps him awake.

He's eaten bugs. Raw; just plucked a caterpillar right off the ground and stuck it in his mouth. Furry, surprisingly crunchy. Pathetic.

He loves his friends and hates himself. That's how it's been lately. Loves Harry and hates the bloody tent, loves Hermione but hates the mushrooms she boils up at night (he eats them, anyway, because it's not his mouth that's hungry, it's his arms and legs and back and neck and even his sodding _eyeballs_), loves those two and hates the voices on the wireless that would never even list their names because if they starve out here no one will know.

Sometimes Ron thinks that it's changed him. He thinks that everything is different know, and how could he ever look his mother in the eyes again and expect her to have all the answers or look at the twins' plates at dinner and not think about how wasteful they are? He wonders how, on the slim chance they all make it through this war alive, anyone ever expects anything to go back to normal. It will _never_ be normal.

Because they are starving. They are living in a freezing tent with the darkest magic ever known and the world's hatred pressing in on them from every side. Just the two most important people in the world and _him, _just a _guy_, who just happens to be along for the ride. They are dying in the slowest way they know how, and Ron thinks that he'd trade this canvas prison for a battlefield straight away.

Ronald Weasley could kill a man. He wasn't always sure, but now he is. He thinks it takes a man dying to be able to kill. A specific mixture; a man fighting, a man in love, a man protecting, a man useless, a man starving. And right now he is all of those things.

So what if he's tired of fighting a war for the glory of his best friend? _So what?_

All of this anger, he thinks, it's not sudden. It's long overdue.

* * *

"Mum," Lily whines, crawling onto her mother's legs. Ginny shifts on the couch to make room for her youngest and looks at her daughter patiently. "Mum, tell me a story."

"What kind of story?" Ginny sighs, having just sat down for the first time in hours.

"A love story!" Lily exclaims, and there she goes again, filling her mother's heart, and Ginny momentarily thinks about telling Lily about the day she was born. Lily cuts her off before she can open her mouth, though, with an idea- "Tell about you and Daddy's first date!"

"Oh," Ginny says, searching her mind for the first proper date she and Harry had gone on. "Well, Lily, we were just kids when we met."

"So?" Lily whines. "I'll bet he was terribly in love with you, even then."

"Well..." Ginny says, chewing on the side of her cheek while Lily stares at her expectantly. "Well, of course he was. Always has been, you know. He made a bit of a fool of himself, really, always following me around and going red when I entered the room. Couldn't hardly get a word out, he was so nervous around me."

"Really?" Lily laughs. "So how did he get the nerve to ask you on a date?"

"He didn't ask me, exactly. But there was this time, second term of my very first year at Hogwarts, when he met me someplace in the castle."

Lily's eyes grow wide. "At night?" she squeals.

"Mhm," Ginny braggs.

"And was it a secret place?"

"Oh, very," Ginny replies evenly. "Your Dad, Uncle Ron, and I were the only ones who knew about it. Mostly."

"Uncle Ron was there too?"

"Sort of. He was very protective."

"But where was Aunt Hermione?"

"Oh," Ginny says, thinking, "she was quite busy that night-"

"Studying," Lily pipes in, sticking her tongue out in disgust.

"Something like that," Ginny agrees.

"I'll bet you played hard to get," Lily muses.

"Maybe," her mother admits.

"So how did you finally know you were in love?"

"I think I always knew," Ginny says, smoothing her daughter's hair. "There were just some things we had to take care of first."

* * *

**_Note:_**_ Okay, before anyone clicks that review button down there, let's just take a moment to calm down... as I'm sure many of you must know by now, a war is being waged through reviews on this story. It's gotten out of hand to the point where people are just reviewing to argue with the last reviewer, not saying anything at all about the story. Now, I love hearing feedback from you all, but if you're going to be hateful please take it somewhere other than this story; or better yet, don't do it at all. I'm sorry, but I don't want the arguments associated with me or my writing._

_Everyone gets protective about their favorite characters, I understand and respect that. I'm the same way! I never meant anyone any harm when I began writing this story, and if the reviews continue to be a bash of any characters or attack other reviewers I will take this story off the site. I never meant for anyone's feelings to get hurt, and it is not worth it to upset so many people or allow a place for others to upset one another._

_One of the most beautiful things about Harry Potter is that the characters mean something different and special to everyone- they can be whoever the reader wants them to be. I ask that, at least in this story, you love your characters while maintaining respect that they may not be exactly the same to someone else. For those of you who are just reading this story and had no idea what was going on, I'm sorry to bring it up, and thank you so much for being respectful. I appreciate you very much._

_Anyway, I'm sorry I had to do that guys! Hopefully this will blow over. :) In the first drabble I tried a hand at Ron's point of view while he is under the influence of the horcrux because there seems to be an idea that I don't like him. I love Ron, and I wanted everyone to know that I understand the reasoning to his leaving, and I think J.K. is brilliant for putting it in the books. I don't hold it against him, it's simply quite great fodder for drabbles. _

_Sorry for the awfully long note, everyone! Thanks for reading!_


	20. Empty Seat

"Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked, hovering behind the table.

"Oh, Harry!" Molly gasped, nearly dropping a pan. "I didn't know you lot were up already." She turned from the stove and smiled at him kindly.

"Er, no, just me." Harry replied awkwardly, gripping the back of a chair.

"Mm? Couldn't sleep, then?"

"Not exactly," Harry sighed, and a silence stretched between the two as she waited for him to continue.

When it became apparent that Harry wasn't going to say anything else, Molly gestured to the chair he was standing behind. "Well have a seat, my boy, and I'll fix you a cup of tea." Harry sat stiffly and looked at his hands. Molly prepared the tea in silence, though it wasn't an entirely uncomfortable one.

"There you are," she said warmly, handing him a cup.

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said, and, deciding he sounded a bit too rushed, started over, "Mrs. Weasley, I was just wondering... if you knew my mum."

A pause followed, and Molly lowered her own cup, "...Your mum?" she said at length.

"Yes," Harry affirmed quietly.

"No, Harry, I'm afraid I didn't. She was younger than me... we weren't at school at the same time."

Harry's hands tightened around each other but he only nodded.

"I'm sorry," Molly floundered.

"No, it's- I just wondered, is all..." Harry trailed off, staring at his tea.

Molly sat down across Harry. He opened his mouth slightly, and then shut it and clenched his jaw. She reached for his hand. "I've heard great things about her, Harry. I know your mum was an incredible woman."

Ron chose this moment to shuffle in, rubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. "Careful, Harry," he joked, "She's a bit partial to redheads, you know." Ron glanced at his mother's hand in Harry's and looked at the two with a hint of alarm. "I wasn't listening in- I just heard that last part," he mumbled.

Ron glanced around the kitchen and saw that breakfast had not been prepared yet. Sensing that his friend might need an escape route, he added, "C'mon, Harry, let's see if Hermione's up yet."

Harry nodded once and rose to join his friend. He paused at the doorway and turned slightly. To Molly's back he said, "If she could, I think she'd thank you," and then continued out the door.

Sitting at the table in the early morning light, one hand over her mouth, Molly Weasley cried.

* * *

Only a few weeks after the Battle of Hogwarts the remaining Weasleys sit around the kitchen table. Although the War has officially ended it joins the family for dinner, sitting in an empty seat next to George.

"Where's the salt?" Percy asks stiffly.

"I'm sorry, dear?" Mrs. Weasley croaks, obviously off in her own world.

"The uh, the salt?" Percy clarifies.

"I've got it here," Ginny says, picking up the shaker. She tries to pass it to George so he can hand it to Percy, but she has to lean over Fred's old seat in the process.

George passes the salt without looking up from the table and Percy takes it, muttering his thanks. Mr. Weasley coughs.

The meal continues in silence, with all eyes focused on the empty seat where War helps himself to seconds.

* * *

George thinks that they were all hurt when their family was torn apart, but while everyone else's wounds slowly heal into shiny scars he spends all his time _bleeding_.

* * *

After the Battle, when everyone was milling about Hogwarts cleaning, tending to the wounded, counting the dead, Ron and Harry very quietly slipped out of the Great Hall. Ron walked and Harry followed, and their feet found a path as familiar to them as each other. The two boys passed through the Gryffindor common room and wordlessly made their way up the stairs. They found their dormitory mostly intact. A window was busted and their were a few scratches on the floor and walls. Harry sat quietly on his bed and was met by a puff of dust. Ron walked toward his bed and dropped to his knees, running his finger over one of the posts. Carved into the wood were two names, side by side, where they had been for seven years. One, in the writing of a boy trying to get used to his name, the other, a boy trying to leave his mark.

"Still here," Ron said, looking from the carving to Harry.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, amazed. _Ron Weasley and Harry Potter, _he thought, _still here._

* * *

_"Hermione!"_ Mrs. Granger called through the screen door, "It's getting dark, time to come in."

A ten year old girl sat on the sidewalk, a book folded in her lap, staring at the fence across the street.

"Hermione, last call!"

"Coming, Mum," Hermione said faintly. As she walked up the pathway to her house four tiny footsteps padded behind her.

"Thank you, dear- oh, would you look at that," Mrs. Granger paused, staring at the creature on her front porch. "A tabby cat. It seems you made a friend today, Hermione."


End file.
